tly Maude's eyes went up to Harold's with an appealing look, as if
asking him not to tell her mother then--a precaution which was needless,
as he had no intention to tell Mrs. Tracy, or any one, of the terrible
blunder he had made; and with a hope that the reality might dawn upon
Maude, he answered, truthfully:

'I was talking to her of Jerrie. I am very sorry.'

If Maude heard she did not understand, for drops of pinkish blood were
oozing from her lips, and she looked as if she were already dead, as in
obedience to Mrs. Tracy's command, Harold took her in his arms and
carried her to the couch near the open window, where he laid her down as
tenderly as if she were indeed his affianced wife.

'Thanks,' she sighed, softly, and her bright, beautiful eyes looked up
at him with an expression which half tempted him to kiss the quivering
lips from which he was wiping the stains so carefully, while Mrs. Tracy,
at the door, gave some orders to a servant.

'You can go now,' she said, returning to the couch, and dismissing him
with her usual hauteur of manner; while Maude put up her hand and
whispered:

'Come soon--and Jerrie.'

Had Harold been convicted of theft or murder he could scarcely have felt
worse than he did as he walked slowly through the park, reviewing the
situation and wondering what he ought to do.

'If it almost killed her when she thought I loved her, it would surely
kill her to know that I do not,' he thought. 'I cannot undeceive her
now, while she is so weak; but when she is better and able to bear it, I
will tell her the truth.'

'And if she dies?' came to him like the stab of a knife, as he
remembered how white she looked as he held her in his arms. 'If she
does,' he said, 'no one shall ever know of the mistake she made. In this
I will be true to Maude, even should the world believe I loved her and
had told her so. But, oh, Heaven! spare me that, and spare Maude's life
for many years. She is too young, too sweet, too good to die.'

This was Harold's prayer as he rested for a moment in the pine-room,
where he had often played with the little girl, and where he could now
see her so plainly picking up the cones, or sitting on the soft bed of
needles, with the bloom on her cheeks and the brightness in her soft
black eyes which had looked so lovingly at him an hour ago. 'Spare
Maude; do not let her die!' was his prayer, and that of many others
during the week which followed, when Maude's life hung on a th